cradle. "Now it will mount into the air!" said the wonderstricken visitor to himself. "Now it will ascend-and-!

What!" All of a sudden the tender form shakes violently-barking, it leaps to the floor-it is snapping the visitor's legs! Flossy-poor forgotten little Flossy, the tiny white poodle-awoke from her long sleep, set up a vigorous barking, which, with her bold attack upon the visitor's ankles, proved beyond doubt that flesh and blood, and no ghost, was present. But a very good ghost indeed had Flossy made. Her long silky coat had been the soft white drapery, her little pink nose had in the uncertain glimmer been transformed into a very palpable face, and her long ears had looked exactly like the soft hood or cap with its fringe spread over the pillow.'

The children clapped their hands with glee when their aunt came to this, and then tried to arrange Fuzzy on the hearth-rug into the supposed form of Flossy, stretching and smoothing her ears to the utmost, much to the disturbance of Fuzzy's dreams. But it was of no use: Fuzzy was not

Flossy, and the result was unsatisfactory.

'Then was that your very own real little Flossy that you have left in Philadelphia, Aunt Jenny ?' cried Maggie.

'The very same. Colonel and Mrs. Forrest sent word that I was to have her if I would accept of her, and she has been my own little pet Flossy ever since. I was staying in Virginia at that time, and the old gentleman himself told all this to me. "Now, you see," said he, as he concluded his story, "if I had run away out of the room in a fright, I should never have known what caused that noise in the

cradle; and no argument in the world would ever have convinced me that I had not beheld a spirit."

'That is most true,' responded Mr. Morton. And if we could only discover as plainly the causes of all the strange noises and sights we hear of, I am afraid there would be no more stories of haunted houses for children's magazines.' 'And did any cannon-balls come?' asked Duncan.

"You will rejoice to learn that when the old gentleman and his little companion, Flossy, looked out upon the river the next morning, not a single war-ship was to be seen. They had all steamed away during the night to attack another place higher up the Rappahannock; and the Commander of the fleet had spared Colonel Forrest's mansion, having by some means obtained knowledge of his family sorrows.'

As the children went up-stairs to bed that evening, they were deciding among themselves that Aunt Jenny Morton had made these the very happiest holidays they had ever passed.

E shall now pass over many months, but not, you will be glad to hear, to bid adieu to Aunt Jenny, who, contrary to her previous arrangements, was prolonging her stay in England, and had just returned to Mortonfield for a second winter.

During the year only one addition had been made to the family menagerie; namely, the young thrush which the gardener's son had caught last spring, and carefully tended till the summer vacation, when Duncan took it under his own especial training, afterwards confiding it to Maggie.

Miss Morton's time had been divided between visits to her many English friends both in London and in the country; and she was now established at Mortonfield during the absence of her brother and his wife, who, owing to the delicate health of the latter, had gone to spend the winter at Mentone. Feeling that the children were thus under her exclusive care, she was all the more desirous to keep them well and happy, as also to promote

their improvement and enjoyment by every means in her power. Duncan had come home from school at midsummer, a stout, healthy, manly boy, wonderfully improved in every way; and Freddy's respect for him had increased proportionately. At Michaelmas, also, he had been home for a short time, and the younger children were now looking forward to the Christmas holidays and to his being again among them, with a delight and anticipation hitherto unknown to them. Not a little did the presence of their aunt increase these happy expectations. Very dear and very important had Miss Morton become to her little nephews and nieces; and so charming a knack had she of providing entertainment, that they felt quite sure of spending a happy winter, even in spite of papa's and mamma's absence.

It was now the middle of November. Mr. and Mrs. Duncan Morton had arrived at Mentone, and had sent back to the party at home a long and amusing account of their journey. After an unusually fine and prolonged autumn, wet weather was setting in; the croquet hoops and balls had just been safely packed away for the winter ; gardening and fishing and all other summer amusements were at an end; and the little Mortons-true children of nature that they were-found it rather difficult to settle themselves down to in-door occupations. Maggie, perhaps, was less at a loss, because, besides spending more time in the schoolroom than Freddy, she had, in addition to her studies, the chief charge of the bird-room; but poor little Freddy, thinking himself quite too big to play in the

nursery, and finding himself quite too little to do half what Duncan did, but which he attempted to do nevertheless, spent many a dull half-hour waiting for Maggie or for Aunt Jenny to help him amuse himself.

One day when, not being very well, he had escaped from the schoolroom after a little make-believe study, he ran down to Aunt Jenny, confident in her ability to make the afternoon pass happily, but found her so busily engaged in letter-writing, that there was no hope of getting anything out of her. She took time, however, to give him a kiss, and to tell him that if she were undisturbed her letters would not occupy her long, but that they were of much consequence, and must be finished for that day's mail.

It was raining so fast that poor Freddy could not go out, so he dawdled into the hall to look for amusement there, and finding none, came back to the library to coax Fuzzy for a game; but Fuzzy preferred to finish her nap in front of the fire, so Freddy sauntered round the room, jolting the writing-table, and taking up first one thing and then another, but finding pleasure in none of them.

'Oh, how I do wish I could go out!' said he dolefully, as he leaned against the library window, and, with his elbows on the sill and his cheeks in his hands, looked out upon the bushes, drip, drip, dripping with rain. 'Aunt Jenny, there's a little bird on the iron railing that I do believe I could catch as e-e-easily as-as anything. He has been sitting there ever such a long time all in the rain, and he doesn't seem to mind it a bit. And he is

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